


The memoirs of Colonel Sebastian Augustus Moran

by Jimmybean



Series: The Memoirs of Villains (or simply misunderstood) men [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A lot of cursing, Awesome and BAMF Sebby, Bored as hell Jim, Coffee and blowjobs because Mormor, Crude Humor, Cute Jim, Flashbacks, Fluff, Jim is a lil shit, M/M, Screaming because apparently THATS WHAT PEOPLE DO, Sebastian's asshole brother, Smut, because it's sebastian guys, story telling, the war - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-20 22:24:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3667461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimmybean/pseuds/Jimmybean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This started out as serious, I swear. Sebastian was going to be a total serious Sebastian. Then....i don't know what happened.</p><p>Updates will occur between Monday and Friday, sometimes once a day and sometimes once a week. </p><p>Italics are Jim, when he decides to write in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tigers

    Hunting tigers in India may have been one of the highlights of my life, before Moriarty of course. Maybe I should just give that an acronym. B. M. Nope, that’s for bowel movement. B.J? Shit, that’s for blowjob. B.J.M. There we go. Before Jim Moriarty. 

I remember the rush of blood through my veins when I finally cornered a tiger, the look of fierce danger in its eyes. Unfortunately for it and fortunately for me, I was more dangerous. The only tiger that ever managed to hurt me, (I still have three claw marks on my side, it scared but it’s a cool scar) I have his pelt. A little memoir, much like this. The entries in this will probably be totally random, as I write what I’m thinking as I’m thinking it. Today I was feeling wistful about tigers. Who knows what will pop up in this dump? Maybe I’ll get wistful about fucking bitches before Jim turned me gay.

//Jim//  _I did not turn you gay, Moran._ Damn little shit wrote in here. Oh well, guess he has a point. His tight heat does feel better than any woman I had ever met. Well ta ta for now or some shit. Jim’s making me stop because the needy lil shit wants food. He hasn’t ate anything in two days, so this is a blessing.


	2. War

Some days, I miss the war. Days like today for instance. Jim hasn’t had anyone come in to plan a crime for three days, so he’s resorted to screaming. He has seriously screamed all day today. His bloody little Irish accent has started to go hoarse but he will not stop. I’ve tried everything. Not even sucking him off helped. He screamed all through it. Weird little shit, I tell you. Anyway, the war. War is a beautiful place. War was my best friend. War was….Everything. For a while, anyway.

It helped me to keep order in my life, gave me free reign to kill. I was the best god damned sniper in the Queens army. Till I shot a fellow member in the shoulder. John Watson. He doesn’t know I shot him, as my Captain kept it mostly secret. But he said I was getting too trigger happy and released me. Dishonorable discharge. How distasteful, eh? Hmmm….I wonder what would happen if I told John. It would rock his world, if he knew.

Fuck. Jim cut himself. Nicked one of those important veins. I need to go take care of him.

Update: The stupid little shit lived luckily, to be bored again. I’ve had an earful of “You fucking twat, why’d you save me,” and “I’m docking your pay for this.” I cheerfully reminded him that he stopped paying me months ago when I became his boyfriend, and that any time he’d like to start up again would be nice, since he kind of needed to pay me. He wasn’t too happy about that.

 


	3. Alcohol

For a long time in my life, after the war, I was a drunk. I was reminded of that today, when we went to a fancy restaurant with one of Jim’s clients and he offered us champagne. I gave my boyfriend/boss puppy dog eyes but he glared and told the man no. Only good thing about me not drinking is he doesn’t drink. I miss it, a whole lot. But I understand his reasoning.

 

That’s how I met my kitten actually. Was drunk in a bar fight. He was originally asking me to fuck him but I was straight then and politely declined. By politely declined, I mean punched him. I feel kind of bad about it still. Makes me want to punch myself, though I know I’d never be able to do it correctly. Anyway, Alcohol was a bad time of my life. Just like coke was a bad time of Jim’s life.

 

Okay, this journal is about me so I’m not going to talk about that much. Just that he was addicted to coke for a while and he did not like it. I helped wean him off, because cute little kittens don’t need to be snorting coke with straws. Shit, that makes me want to go draw a kitten. Bye.


	4. Jim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm updating faster than I said I would. I'm kind of addicted to writing this.

My darling Jim. God, I could talk about him for hours. Maybe I will. It’s not like this is getting published anyway. He’s in front of me right now, handcuffed to the headboard of our bed, ball gagged and glaring.

 

He just kicked me. Rude. Anyway, onto Jim. His pretty pale skin is like a dream, and I want to kiss every inch of it. I tried to, once. He wouldn't stay still though. Can I tell you how lovely his voice gets when you’re fingering him, all throaty and low? It’s almost a purr. Just shows how much he is my kitten. Mine. If he ever got with anybody else, or if anyone tried to make him leave me…I don’t know what I’d do.

 

It seems like every time I write in this, I get distracted. Wonder if that says something about me. I tried to write about the beauty of Jim, but it keeps getting off topic. He is- he’s fucking perfect. Let’s say this. His soul is obsidian. It looks pure black, but when someone shines a light on it (the light is me) it sparkles and glows. I know we’re not normal or good. Jim and I are…..really unhealthy, alone and together. But well…..we complete each other. Oh shit he’s gotten-

 

Update: Jim got loose, read my mushy gushy stuff, and…cried. I held him for hours, and it was everything him and I needed. He’s so lovely when he cries it hurts me. But the vulnerability he showed….I loved it and hated it. If I can get to him by calling him beautiful, (NO ONE HAS EVER CALLED HIM THAT IT TURNS OUT SO I’M BEYOND PISSED) who else can get to him?

 

 

 

 

I told him I love you. He didn't say it back.


	5. Coffee

I like my coffee black. All these new flavors and iced kinds are just disgusting. Jim goes and gets a iced fucking vanilla latte, then dumps like four fucking gallons of sugar in it, and pours fucking skim milk in it. Worse, he’s trying to make me taste it. Shit. He said no sex for a week unless I do.

 

God dammit. It’s actually good. Fuck him. Actually, I want to. I wonder if I could talk him into getting on his knees and sucking me off under the table. He’s done it before. Jim loves sucking cock, especially in public places like coffee ships. _I’ll do it if you keep drinking the latte._

 

That’s all the motivation I need. I might not like the shit but I really like blowjobs. Besides, it’s coffee. Caffeine and Jim’s warm mouth on me is spectacular. And the look the waiter is giving my flushed face and Jim’s empty seat is the best. “Excuse me sir,” I shall say. “I am getting a very nice blowjob from my boyfriend and would like to be left alone.”

 

What I actually said: “Do you need anything or are you going to leave?” And then, a moan escaped because Jim took that opportunity to fucking swipe his little tongue on the fucking tip of my fucking sex organ.

 

Update: The police were called and Jim didn’t feel like bailing us so we had to leave quickly. The excitement made me come though so that’s a plus.


	6. PTSD

Jim tried to put me in bondage tonight and fuck me. First of all, he doesn’t have a dominant bone in his whole body. He was made to be a mewling submissive, to be tied up and lavished affection, pleasure, and pain upon. Jim likes it, though he’d never admit it. Second of all, it triggered me. That’s right. I have triggers. From the army.

 

Back when I was the United Kingdom’s best sniper, I was captured by the enemy. When they realized pain wouldn’t work in breaking me, they did….other things. Took away my clothes, locked me in a cage. Tied me to a table, gagged me, and fucking raped me multiple times. Pissed down my throat on numerous occasions, things like that. When I got a hold of a gun, I killed them all. That probably started my trigger happy finger, to be honest.

 

So what Jim did to me tonight, it made all of that re-surface. Especially when he called me a whore. I had broken through the ropes, pinned him to the bed, and started to choke him, without even realizing it. I stopped of course, but there’s bruises where my hands were and guilt in my veins. What if I hadn’t stopped? What then?

 

It’s things like this that make me wonder if I’m too dangerous to protect my little kitten, if maybe I should just leave. There’s a monster brewing deep inside me, a tiger. And this tiger wants to attack more than it should. I know it’s bad but…if I ever murdered Jim, I would do it by slitting his throat. He’s so pale, and the dark red blood would look lovely streaming down it. His death has to be as beautiful as he is.

 

_Aww. You know how I’d kill you tiger? I would carve my initials into your chest, deep and hard to where it was gushing out blood and let you bleed out. Hell, I’d give you my initials now, but I don’t want to ruin your abs while we’re still fucking. They are perfect, after all._

 

Cute Jim. Real cute. Actually, it’s not cute. It’s kind of…hot. I wonder if I could talk him into small initals, on my hip. Only time will tell, I guess.


	7. Nothing

_I don’t know what to name this fucking chapter. But I wanted to write in this, because it seems he’s not stopping this silly thing like I thought he would. I am a huge part of Sebastian’s life, and I want to make that known to people. I was the one who saved him, who gave him a purpose, who gave him my heart. I regret it, some days. I can tell he does too._

 

 

_I’m insufferable, after all. Annoying. Snappy. Bitchy, even. A dick. Much more that I can’t list off at the time, I am. I don’t know how my tiger puts up with me even. Then again, there are some things that are less than endearing on my love. He’s not good with technology, he freaking calls laptops foldy computers. He still likes classic rock, like Queen. Eugh. He never lets me get away with suicide, he yells at me when I cut myself, and he worships my body. It’s really annoying._

 

 

_Like for instance, when I got him used to being with men, he realized that….I was smaller than others in the penis department as well. So in bed, he’d kiss all over my body and then spend time just worshipping my smaller cock. I hated it, it embarrassed me to all high hell. And worse off, every time I act the least bit submissive, he won’t let it be. How can I tell him I want to be that way without him pointing it out all the damn time? All I want Is to suck him off sometimes, and to be made to do it, but then I want to go back to controlling my empire and not having someone control me. He doesn’t understand this at all though._

 

_Huh. I guess I see why he writes in this. It was…strangely therapeutic. He can’t see all of this though, so I’m going to have to tear this page out. Seb can’t know I’m soft. It would kill him. He needs to know I’m strong. Strong enough to be unaffected. Strong enough to….run this business._

_-Jim_


	8. Killing

 

I’ve done a lot of killing in my life. With a knife, with a rifle, with a handgun, there are so many ways to go. My personal favorite, I think, is rifles, though getting up close and personal can be fun. Killing is also therapeutic in a way, or at least that’s what I think. Jim and I could see a therapist, but killing someone together and having sex in their blood in an alley is much more fun.

 

Man, that last sentence. We really are messed up. I never gave much thought to our relationship till now. When did that become normal to me? When did any of this become sane, or rational? I know the answer to the questions though. Because my life’s always been that way. At twelve, my dad was giving me money to go find him a prostuite, because he was too busy working to go do it. As soon as I’d bring her home, I’d go to bed. A few came to my room after they were done with my dad, trying to tempt me into things. My first sexual experience was getting a hand job from one.

                                                                       

Point is, we all start out somewhere. Somehow, we’re all made the way we are for a reason. Like how I’m addicted to danger and bad things, it was because my father was very corrupt. I don’t know why Jim is who he is though. I’d like to figure it out but….I’m almost afraid to ask. He’s very touchy about his past, and often doesn’t like to tell me anything about it. The bits I’ve gotten from him are worth as much as gold and diamonds, so to speak.

 

Damn, I feel deep and thoughtful today. Must’ve been the drug Jim spiked me with yesterday, before I lost my memory. The hotel room was a wreck, so I assume it must have been good fun. And it wasn’t addictive, because I know Jim doesn’t want me to fall into anything like that ever again. I’m pretty sure, anyway. No one can ever know with my boss. Anyway, I’m done for this time. Getting lazy. Might watch some telly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Gone

He left me. I have nothing. Does this mean I’m straight now? Bollocks, I’m so drunk. It’s been days since he left but it feels like weeks. I don’t know if I can do this. Don’t know if I can be alone. Going to test if I’m straight again, I guess.

 

 

 

Update: I’m not straight. I tried picking up a lovely little thing from the bar. She was firm and all curves, with silky hair, but looser than the Grand Canyon. I mean, straight guys would have been satisfied with it, but I wasn’t. I wanted that tight heat enveloping my cock, the firm lips and feel of stubble, the dark eyes and dark hair. I wanted Jim. I need him. I-

 

 

Another update: Got caught off because I almost went to kill myself. Luckily, my brother Severin came. Luckily, he has me wrapped in his arms at the moment. Luckily, I don’t feel like dying. He’s watching me write in this, and thinks it’s interesting. **I also think your insane, little brother, but whatever floats your boat.** Why do people like to write in this? Jim wrote in it, my brother has..whatever.

 

 

  
Third update: Listening to love songs, crying and eating ice cream. It’s been a week without him. I don’t think I can live like this.

 


	10. Jim

_The only reason I’ve come back is because the big brute seems sadder without me than he is spending time with me. Weird. I really dislike sentiment, how people give their hearts to each other. Sadly….I’ve given mine to Sebastian. I did it after he gave me his though. I would never allow myself to be vulnerable like that, waiting for someone to return their affection._

_It’s stupid. Why does he want me? Why does he need me? Why does he care for me at all? Simple little gestures, like stroking a hand through my hair after he things I’ve gone to sleep, kissing my forehead at night, making sure I’m warm because I get cold easier than most, saying I love you, saying I’m beautiful. He’s…how should one describe my tiger?_

_Ferocious, loving, brave, merciful, kind. Adjectives that could be put to him. Attractive, deadly, keen, wild. A bloodlustful monster. Good thing I want to watch the world burn though, because he’ll be right beside me as I do._

_Tearing this out again. Sebby doesn’t need to see this either. Can’t have him going all cocky and arrogant from me inflating his ego by describing how amazing he is. I’m pretty sure that’s all he uses this journal for though. To talk about me and to talk about himself._


	11. Thankful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah i apologize so much dear readers. I shall try to get back into a normal posting schedule once more, but i am a bit busy.

He came back. I’m so relieved. Severin has never been more pissed, but fuck him. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to love and lose, and to lose Jim, the greatest man to have ever lived, was a tragedy. I understand why Jim left me. Hell, I’d probably leave me. I’m a dumbass. I’m scarred, broken. I’m just so glad he came back. More than glad. I’ll show him how important he is to me, I swear it. I’ll show him everyday. I’ll make him see just how much I need and love him. Severin might call me an idiot and fool, but I don’t care. 

I’m thankful for other things of course. For getting out of the war when I did. For my brother not dying in birth. They said we were lucky he didn’t. I don’t remember why, but yeah. That happened. Thankful for the chance to kill my asshole father. Thankful for just being me. For guns.

I need to write a chapter just on guns because god I love them. How smooth they are. How one can fit in my grasp perfectly. Guns are just...perfect. Almost as perfect as my kitten Jimmy. 

Well, I should stop. Jim is beckoning me to bed, and I’m going to listen.


	12. Meaningless thoughts

I've led a fucked up life, I realize. I've done fucked up things, to fucked up and not fucked up people. I think I fit more in the second category. I fuck around a lot, with Jim. I fucking kill people. I don't know exactly /why/ I feel this melodramatic. Jim says its depression. Why don't I believe him? Because I don't think it's depression. I've been depressed, before. It's this overbearing weight of either not wanting to do anything, or wanting to do everything and you can't. Or sometimes, it actually is what it's supposed to be, a big cloud of grief. I've felt it in the war when I thought I was going to die.

This feels more....like a lack of emotion. Lack of caring. Not...giving any "fucks". I don't quite know what it is, but I don't like anything like i used to. Nothings exciting. It's....as Jim used to say, boring. I keep trailing off a lot writing this, because I don't think it can be put into words. I feel hollowed out inside, like all my chocolatey goodness is gone. Maybe I just need to do something different with life. Get a pet. Donate to some orphans. Get a kid. I don't know. They always say those kinds of things change lives, right? 

I need change or I'm going to die. It feels like I suffocate every day. Maybe meet someone that's actually hard to fight? Haha.


End file.
